


Homecoming

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015, Schmoop, Spinner Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, The Enchanted Forest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5466872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin travels home to reunite with his new baby and wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [belizafryler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belizafryler/gifts).



> A gift for thatbookwormbelle for the Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015. The prompt was: reunion, reconciliation, rumbelle, Baelfire, au.

Rumplestiltskin shivered.

The air was cold, the wind chilling and sharp against skin and tree. Brittle branches whipped back and forth violently, some snapping, the sound loud even with the piercing whistle of the wind in his ears. Every breath tasted metallic, burned his lungs, his throat. Numbness had set in his fingertips and his toes, except where his right foot throbbed.

He sagged against a tree, shuffling around until it blocked a majority of the wind. His entire leg was in more pain than he’d ever thought possible to feel all once. It wasn’t for the cold he probably would have fainted by now, but being repeatedly slapped in the face by frozen air was rather effective at keeping him awake. That and his desire for home.

 _Home_.

It might be a tiny, two room cottage with a drafty door and a leaky roof, in a village that probably didn’t rate a mark on any map, but it was his whole world. The seer’s words echoed in his mind as he trembled and pressed back against the tree. His wife was pregnant. A child. _His_ child. He swallowed and tried to take a deep breath, but the air was so biting and cold and his jaw was chattering that all he could do was hiss in and out through his teeth.

Pushing off the tree, he staggered forward, the makeshift splints he’d tied around his ankle barely keeping him upright. He needed to rest, but he couldn’t stay here. He had to keep moving, keep trying to make it home. The soldiers might be following him. They sometimes did that to those they saw as traitors. The deserters who ran from battle even as the ogres were rending others in half. They would chase them into the woods, beat them and leave them for the animals or hang them from a tree.

The snow began again before he’d made it more than a quarter mile. It was icy and hard, stinging his exposed skin like tiny needles. He pulled his cloak tighter around him, bending a little to keep his unprotected face out of the direct attack of the wind. It made it harder to see where he was going and to walk with the stick, but eventually he made it to the end of the woods.

Shielding his eyes as he looked into the slanting path of the falling snow, he spied some kind of structure a few yards across a field. It was probably the remains of a farmhouse or barn, long since burned or knocked down by ogres, but if he could make it there it would do far better for passing the night than staying in the forest. He sucked in another sharp, burning breath of frozen air and stumbled forward, looking around nervously as he left the relative protection of the trees.

What was left of the cottage was small but workable. Half of the roof had collapsed, but the part that remained was held up by a very sturdy looking beam cut from an elder tree. There was protection from the wind and snow, and the fireplace and chimney were still standing. Luckily, he still had his pouch with his piece of flint.

Hobbling around, he managed to stack enough of the broken furniture to block the wind on the one unprotected side and clear a place to sleep. The small fire was barely enough to warm the space, but it was better than being outside. He settled on the floor with his back to the fire and tried to sleep. The only thought in his mind was seeing his child, and his precious wife.

 _Belle_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rumplestiltskin blinked at the unexpected brightness.

The sun was glaring through a break in the clouds, then through a gap in the leftover roof, and right onto his face. He winced as he sat up, every inch of him aching. His injured leg throbbed as he shifted and he could tell his foot was even more swollen than before. Travel would be even slower today. His mind felt fuzzy and as he looked around everything had a strange haze about it. He shook his head, assuming it was just an early morning fog.

Within a few minutes he was moving again, this time with less wind and snow in his face, though the day was still very overcast. He leaned on his makeshift walking stick, all but dragging his wounded leg through the heavy, wet snow. If the soldiers were following him, he would be easy to track and even easier prey.

He looked over his shoulder often.

It seemed that all at once the sky went dark and night fell around him. He blinked and stopped, looking around in confusion. It felt like no time had passed at all. Behind him, there was no burned out shell of a cabin, only an endless trail of footsteps cutting a path through the snow.

Up ahead he could see lights and twirls of smoke, and he smiled. This felt familiar.

He looked around again and then realized he was almost right at his front door. The small cottage was just a few yards ahead, a warm yellow glow peeking through the gaps around the door and shutters. He smiled despite the odd, unsettled feeling in his gut.

Everything still looked hazy as he approached, but the sounds of laughter and life carried him to the doorway. His hand pressed against the worn, knotted wood but it was smooth under his palm, like glass. He frowned and pulled his hand away. With another shake of his head he pushed it open and stepped through the door.

Belle looked up at him, and he smiled, his vision blurring as his eyes welled up with tears of joy. She was sitting in a chair by the fire, a small cradle at her feet that she rocked idly with one foot. There was a book in her lap and a basket of sewing on the other chair. He limped forward, reaching out a hand to her.

She frowned. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

His eyes went wide and his hand fell. She rose and he staggered back, almost toppling over when he bumped into the table.

Belle looked at him sternly. “Shouldn’t you be _dead_? They told me you died. I was supposed to get more money for that.”

“I - I,” he stammered, licking his lips and trying to find the right words. He hadn’t expected her to be mad, but if she had grieved his death then it was a bit understandable. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t - I just -”

Her hands went to her hips as she stepped forward, scowling. “You _what_?” she spat. “You ran away?”

He opened his mouth but settled for a meager nod instead.

She scoffed and shook her head again. “How typical. You’re a coward just like your useless father!”

“But I was just -” he started to say, gaping at her. His chest ached but he forced himself to take a step, leaning heavily on his staff, reaching out again to her. She had never been like this before; she was always a kind, caring person. What had happened while he was gone to make her this way? 

“I had to come home, don’t you see?” he begged. “For our child!”

“ _My_ child!” she screamed. “You think I want _you_ to raise another traitor? Someone who runs away from duty and honor?”

The baby started crying. He couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl, but the shrieks felt like cuts on his soul. He needed to see his child, needed to hold it and see for himself that it was all worth it.

But then she moved towards him, her eyes blazing, her finger stabbing at his chest. “That baby is _mine_ and this house is _mine_. Now leave!”

“ _Please_! _No_!” he cried out, suddenly finding himself outside again, in the snow and whipping wind. His walking stick was gone and he stumbled before falling to his knees, sobbing. Wet and cold immediately seeped into his clothes and he started shivering as he cried.

She stood in the doorway, sneering down at him, the kindness absent from her eyes. “And don’t come back, _coward_!”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rumplestiltskin awoke with a scream in his throat, gasping for breath.

He thrashed and rolled, almost throwing himself into a broken chair, before he calmed enough to sit up and look around. He tried to breathe, in and out, but his body ached and taking in a lungful of air left a sharp pain in his chest. He pushed himself back, leaned against the stone next to the fireplace, wincing at his leg. He tried to move it, to roll the ankle a bit and get some feeling back, but all it did was suck the breath out of him again, leaving him panting as the stabbing pain slowly receded.

The dream had felt so real.

Every fear he had about returning home was laid out before him. His wife would hate him. He would come home under the banner of a coward, a deserter. It would be a miracle if the town didn’t already know what had happened. He’d seen it before, how the ones who ran home were disowned, ignored, cast out by their friends and family and left to live on the outskirts. He was already derided by most in the village for the things his father had done. This would only make it worse. He’d crippled himself just for the chance to see them and now it might never happen.

If he didn’t die in the cold on the way there, he would always be looking in, always watching as his wife and child went on with life without him.

Tears rolled down his cheeks, but he swiped at them angrily.He’d made the choice to come this far on the words of a seer, all so he could see his child. He couldn’t let a dream keep him from that goal.

Climbing unsteadily to his feet, he sniffed and shook his head. He took a slow breath and then hobbled to the front of the house where it was open from the collapse of the roof. The snow was light and fluttery today, the wind less harsh than yesterday. So far that part of his dream was true, and he was grateful for it. 

The rest he hoped was lies.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The trek to the village took another three days.

Rumplestiltskin lucked out the first two days, the weather was cold but the snow fell lightly, when it fell at all. It seemed that no one was following him, so he was able to stop and rest his leg periodically, and even managed to snare a rabbit. The animal was frail and thin, as starved as he was, but it was enough to keep him going. He stopped looking over his shoulder as well, and was able to walk on the roads that cut through the woods instead of stumbling over uneven terrain.

Apparently, he was not a traitor worth chasing, and he wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

The third day the snow returned full force, along with the wind, though it wasn’t as bad as the night that he ran. It was heavy and wet, clinging to his leathers and leaving everything damp. Just when he thought he might stop for the night somewhere and try to dry out, he saw a glow peeking up over the next hill. There were a few tendrils of smoke as well, twisting up through the harsh weather into the starless sky.

He pressed his lips together in a tight smile as apprehension swirled in his gut.

 _Home_.

It was just over that hill. Sighing, he gripped his walking staff and pulled his cloak around him as he started up the slope.

Rumplestiltskin entered the village from around the side of the blacksmith’s shop. It was one of the first buildings on the north end and the closest to the cover of the forest. He coughed as he rounded the side yard and small stable where the smithy usually kept a pair of horses. But the building and the fenced in area were empty and looked as though they had been for some time. He swallowed and gave the house a forlorn glance. The village was already on hard times when he’d left with his commission papers in hand. It seems things had gotten much worse if the smithy had to sell his beasts even in wartime.

He crossed the wide main road towards the tavern just as someone staggered out of the door. The voices of raucous drunks and music floated out into the chilly night, and Rumplestiltskin smiled. Hearing the sounds of life and civilization was far nicer than the whistle of the wind and crunch of the snow.

“You there!” a man called out.

Rumplestiltskin looked up. A torch half illuminated the man’s face as he scowled down at him from the steps of the tavern.

“Yes?” Rumplestiltskin replied, cautiously, frowning at the man’s shadowed form.

The man laughed which sent him into a brief coughing fit. “Well, if it isn’t our poor spinner returned from the war.” He bent in half again and hacked up something which he spat to the side, and then stumbled down the steps.

Rumplestiltskin recognized the man as Tavish, a farmer from just east of the village. He was always unpleasant, and usually drunk.

“Come home a _hero_ , spinner?” he asked, mockingly. “No, of course you didn’t! Coward just like your papa!”

Rumplestiltskin winced, and Tavish laughed and wandered off, stopping to brace against the smithy’s fence to empty his stomach. He sighed and looked around, thankful there was no one else about to hear what was probably the first of many humiliations. Everyone already knew, it seemed. Word always did travel faster than horses or people, certainly faster than a crippled spinner in the snow.

He made his way through the rest of the village without encountering another soul. It wasn’t all that surprising. It was late and the weather kept most everyone inside, save the desperate drunks like Tavish. But as he trudged through the snow, the knot in his belly tightened and he began to feel nauseous. If someone like Tavish knew, then certainly Belle knew. He was coming home in disgrace, labeled a coward for life.

The small cottage came into view and he stopped.

It glowed around the edges, fire and candle light peeking out from the gaps and cracks, just like in his dream. The snow was almost the same too; falling in his eyes and making him blink the flakes away. He took an unsteady breath and swallowed. A smile crept onto his face as he imagined his wife and child inside, safe and warm. He could leave them just like that, never taint them with his presence, never suffer the rejection due a traitorous coward like him.

Rumplestiltskin blinked again and felt a dampness on his cheeks that wasn’t from the snow. As he turned away and started to hobble back into the town, he heard a cry, the sharp, high pitched wail of a baby. He stopped and let out a gasping sob, leaning on his staff as he pressed a hand over his mouth.

 _His child_.

He turned again and forced himself forward, towards the little house, covering in the distance with quicker steps than he thought himself capable of, as the cries of his child tapered off. He stared at the door and touched his hand to it. This time, unlike his dream, it felt rough and real. Somehow that was comforting. He pushed but it didn’t budge, which he expected. In this weather, and living alone, Belle would have barred the door. His hand shook from the cold and nerves, but he raised it and thumped against the wood three times.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The wait for the door to open felt as long as his journey here.

The light from inside seemed so bright it made him squint and step back, but after a moment he blinked and -

“R-rumple?” came Belle’s sweet voice. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, staring at him in disbelief. She’d had so many dreams like this that she was certain this one would end the same, with her waking up cold and alone.

He smiled, tears dribbling down his face once more. “Belle.”

The next thing he knew, he was being hauled inside, stumbling forward but somehow not falling on his face. Then his back hit the door, the weight of his body pushing it closed as the wind started to pick up. He felt something press against his front and it took him an embarrassingly long time to realize it was Belle and that the tickling he felt on his face was her hair.

“They said you were dead,” she said, her voice strained. Her arms wrapped around his neck, clinging to him like she was afraid he might disappear again. “They said you were hurt and I thought -” 

She choked on the sob in her throat and pressed her face into his neck.

“Belle, sweetheart, I’m cold and wet,” he said, trying to ease her off of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hold her, but his leg was killing him and he really was soaked to the bone. 

“I don’t care,” she mumbled into his chest. “You’re here.”

Then she let out wet laugh and stepped back, her hands sliding down to his chest. She was wearing one of her long wool night dresses with a large shawl wrapped around her shoulders. It was one he had knitted for her in a dark blue and green. He smiled down at her as she beamed up at him, her eyes red rimmed and tired. Her body still ached from months of working and living alone, from taking care of their baby and wondering if she’d ever see him again. 

She shook her head and threw herself at him again, giving him a firm squeeze.

He dropped the staff, trusting the solidness of the door to hold him up, and clung to her. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in the faint smell of soap and smoke. The usual faint floral scent from the oil she used on her hair was absent, but he suspected she’d forgone everything but the necessities to care for their home and their child.

After a moment she pulled back slightly and tipped her head up to press her lips to his. She didn’t care if they were chapped and cold, he was home and she was never letting him go again. His arms tightened around her, trying to hold her closer, which was a bit impossible with the bulkiness of the heavy leather armor and mail between them. But for now it was enough.

The baby stirred and Belle reluctantly pulled away, moving to the small cradle by the hearth, leaving Rumplestiltskin to look around the room. It was almost the same as when he left, except for the cradle. He frowned at it for a moment, but then Belle was pulling him forward, helping him balance as she urged him to sit in his usual chair by the fire.

She turned back and frowned at him. “What’s happened to your leg?”

He froze. Maybe she hadn’t known after all. He met her eyes and swallowed hard. There was nothing but concern in her expression, but he knew that would probably fade as soon as he told her what he’d done, how he’d disgraced their family.

“Um.” He licked his chapped lips. “I, um, it-it’s injured.”

He stretched it out towards the fire and winced. The bindings were hurting now more than helping as his foot and ankle swelled. He shouldn’t have walked on it but there was no other choice. He might be lucky if he didn’t lose his leg entirely.

Her face fell and she reached out to squeeze his arm and drop a kiss to the top of his head.

“You need to warm up and then get out of those wet clothes,” she said. He watched as she moved to get the kettle and fill it with water. “Some tea will help. And then I’ll get some salve and fresh bandages.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled at her briefly, but then felt his eyes drawn to the cradle. He leaned forward, peering into it to find a pair of dark eyes looking back at him. He felt all the air rush out of him again.

A hand settled on his shoulder, and Belle grinned down at him. “You haven’t been properly introduced yet, but I’ve been telling him all about his papa.”

Rumplestiltskin looked up at her, his eyes wide in amazement. “Him?”

She nodded as she lifted the little bundle from the cradle. She turned to him and shifted so she could place the baby in his arms.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she said, smiling and slipping her arms out from under the child, letting him settle into his. “This is Baelfire. Bae, this is your papa.”

“My son,” he breathed, staring down at the little boy in awe. Baelfire had dark eyes like him, but his nose and his curly brown hair were all Belle. He smiled until he felt his face would split in half as the boy reached up with a chubby hand and grabbed the end of Rumplestiltskin’s nose. 

He laughed. “That’s a good name, a strong name.”

“It was the only name that came to mind,” she said. He looked up and Belle smiled. “I call him Bae.”

“Bae,” Rumplestiltskin repeated, looking down at his child again as the babe wriggled in his blanket.

“How old is he?” he asked after a moment, fighting the pang of not knowing and of having missed so much time.

She sighed. “He’ll be one month tomorrow. You made it home just in time.”

They stayed like that for a while, Rumplestiltskin holding his son with Belle standing next to him, her fingers lightly trailing through his hair as it dried in the heat of the fire.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually, Baelfire fell asleep, and Belle moved him back to the cradle. Rumplestiltskin noticed the cradle looked quite solid, and had carvings on both ends of intertwining vines. The wood also had a reddish tint that usually meant something was made from the more valuable old forest from the north. He frowned, wondering if it had been a gift and if so, who would have given her something so expensive.

She brought him a cup of hot tea and some rewarmed leftover stew that he swore tasted better than anything he’d ever eaten. Then they managed to get him out of his armor together, before she brought a small stool over as well and a basket full an assortment of herbs and cloth strips for bandages.

“Now,” she said softly, taking a seat on the stool. “Let’s see what we can do for your leg.” 

He winced as she lifted his foot to rest on her thigh, as his hand tensed on the arm of the chair. Carefully, she unwrapped the makeshift split he’d made, setting everything in a small pile to the side in case it was needed again. She raised up his trouser leg and unlaced his boots, all the while he was barely breathing, waiting for the moment when she’d see it and realize what he’d done.

Her little gasp made his shut his eyes and turn his face away, not able to bear seeing the rejection and scorn from his dream.

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered. She hadn’t done much to care for the sick or wounded since she left her father’s home, but anyone could tell that this had started to fester. It wouldn’t heal right, if at all, unless the infection could be staved off, and the wound redressed.

“Did you walk all the way here like this?” she asked, looking up at him to see his closed eyes and the way he tried to hide his face. “ _Rumple_ , look at me.”

Rumplestiltskin opened his eyes and swallowed, nodding slightly. He watched as she shook her head and bent down, selecting a couple of bottles from the basket before tending to him. Her hands were gentle, if out of practice, every touch of her fingertips bringing relief. The pain was still there, yes, but he could bear it so much better now that he was home. He just hoped that it would stay that way.

“How did it happen?” she asked, scooping out a bit of green colored salve from a jar before gingerly applying it to his skin.

He swallowed again, trying not to fidget as she worked. “I, um,” he paused and sighed. “There was a seer.”

Belle looked up, frowning. “A seer?”

He nodded and sighed, and the story came spilling out of him. He told her about the men dying all around them, the march of ogres that never seemed to end, the screams that rang out in the dead of night. And the blood, so much blood. Sometimes he could taste it in the air. Then there was the seer and her scattered, strange words. He had thought she might be lying to get him to free her, but somehow he’d known they were true deep down.

And then came his moment of great cowardice.

By then they were both in tears, and Belle climbed into his lap to cling to him again, her arms looped around his neck. He held her close, his forehead pressed to hers.

“I’m sorry, Belle,” he said softly, licking his lips and tasting the faint saltiness of his own tears. “I’ll leave tomorrow if -”

She cut him off with a firm kiss, her hand slipping into his hair as she pulled back. “Hush,” she said, shaking her head. “You will do no such thing.”

“But -”

She leaned back, frowning, with one eyebrow lifted just a bit more than the other. A hint of a smile made his lips twitch, and she shook her head again before settling with her head on his shoulder.

Her mind whirled with thoughts of what he’d been through, what he’d done just for the chance to see his family again. Her heart ached for him as it had since the day he left, but now he was here and she would make sure he knew that she held none of it against him, the hell with what everyone else thought.

“You’re not a coward,” she said after a moment.

Rumplestiltskin exhaled and touched a quick kiss to her forehead. “Not everyone will see it that way.”

She huffed and threaded her fingers through his, giving his hand a squeeze. “I don’t care what anyone says. You did what you had to do to come home to me, and to Bae.” Then she sat up and looked at him, the corner of her mouth curving just a bit. “And I’m so glad you did.”

He smiled back at her, believing everything she said, and really he should have all along. But that didn’t mean it would be easy living in a village where others did not think like his wife did. Their life would be even harder now.

After a little longer by the fire, they moved to the bed, which was only a few feet away. Everything was always so close in the little cottage, but it meant Bae was close at hand, and that the fire easily warmed the space.

Rumplestiltskin had to hobble a bit and hop to get into bed, but Belle only smiled at him, and turned down the blankets.

“We’ll have to get you a proper walking staff,” she said as he settled in beside her. She shifted over and put her head on his chest, her arm lying across his torso. She just wanted to be as close to him as possible.

He sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid I might be like _this_ for a while.”

She shrugged. “I said I didn’t care and I meant it, Rumple.” She tightened her arm, pressing herself against his side. “I’m just glad you’re home, and that you’re here for Bae. I didn’t -”

She sniffled and swiped at her eyes.

“Belle?” he whispered, and she looked up at him.

She gave him a weak, watery smile. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I thought - I thought that last night was it, that it was all I’d ever have of you.” She sighed. “And then a few weeks later -”

She lifted her head a bit and looked over him to Bae’s cradle.

Rumplestiltskin frowned for a second, looking from the cradle to Belle and back. “That night?” he asked. “We - when we -?”

He motioned between them with his hand and she smiled and her eyebrows lifted in a knowing look. He laughed softly. She kissed his cheek and then his chest, and he kissed the top of her head, before they settled again. 

After a long silence, it was her turn to let the words spill out. All her fears about Bae never knowing a father, about their son growing up like they did, missing a parent and always wondering _why_. She managed not to cry until the end, and then she was so spent on tears, and so tired, that it was only a few dribbles.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly, brushing her hair back from her face. He felt her shake her head, rolling it side to side against his chest.

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered. “You’re here.”

There was another silence, where he just listened to the wind howling outside and the creaking of the old house and the soft flutter of his wife’s breathing. He didn’t know how they’d get by. Certainly the town would shun him. It would be difficult to sell anything here as an outcast, and that was if they could afford another spinning wheel. They’d sold his just before he left.

Belle took a slow breath. She knew if she needed to tell him now, but she was worried what he might think, and worried for their future.

“What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, and she smiled. He could always tell.

“My father heard I was with child,” she started, “and he, um, he sent me a letter. He wanted to make amends.”

Rumplestiltskin pressed his lips together. When Belle had left her father’s house to marry him, it had left a rift between them. He worried for a while that she’d resent him for losing her relationship with her father, but it was her father that bore the brunt of her anger. It didn’t make him feel good about the situation, but at least he knew she didn't blame him. He felt her shift against him as he ran his fingers through a lock of her hair.

After a moment she added, “He apologized.”

“Oh?”

She sat up and looked at him, nibbled on her bottom lip. “He really means it, Rumple. He even came to visit and we talked.”

At that Rumplestiltskin pushed himself up to sit. “Here?” She nodded. “Your father, a Lord of the realm, came here?”

She nodded, smiling. “He wanted to see me, and Bae.”

Rumplestiltskin grinned and brushed his fingers along her jaw. “I can’t say I blame him there.” Her head dipped as her smile widened.

Then Belle looked up and bit her lip again, her expression pensive and serious. “Papa wanted me - _us_ \- to come home.” She glanced to Bae again and then looked down at her hands where they fiddled with an edge of the blanket.

“Us?” he repeated. “You mean you and - and Bae?”

He swallowed hard. Was this was it then? Was she was going to take their son and go back to her comfortable life in her father’s castle?

“ _All_ of us,” she said, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek, the slight pressure making him look up. “You too.”

His eyes went wide. “ _Me_?”

She nodded. “We can stay in the castle or we can have our own place, but it will be better than here.” She waited while her husband looked around in a bit of a daze before his eyes came back to her. “There’s no ogres in Avonlea, at least not yet. But even if there was we’d be protected, safe.”

“Bae would be safe,” he said, looking to where his son slept peacefully. Then he turned back to Belle, taking both her hands in his. “But - _why_ , Belle?”

His mind wandered to another version of his dream, one where he came home to an empty house with no idea what had happened to his family. 

She shrugged. “When it got to the end,” she explained, a hand over her belly telling him what end she meant. “I thought you weren’t coming back. Everyone said -” she paused and wiped her nose, sniffling again. “They said you were dead. I thought - Rumple, I had to do what was best for our son.”

She leaned forward, taking his face in her hands to kiss him gently. “I would _never_ leave without you. I _love_ you.” Her head titled slightly. “You remember what the fairy said. It’s true love, remember?”

He let out a breath, smiling and kissed her back. “I love you too.”

“If you don’t want to go, we won’t,” she said, firmly.

He laughed. She’d left her home, the wealth and safety of her father’s position because she loved him. She believed so much in their love that some fairy had told her it was True Love, that it was special and magical somehow. She’d chosen a life in a tiny village with no name, and the arms of a poor spinner who couldn’t give her half of what she deserved. Her father had all but disowned her, and yet she had never wavered. He’d come home in disgrace and she’d still loved him just the same.

“Of course we can go,” he said, still smiling.

She let out a short laugh, and then caught herself, pressing her lips together as she looked sheepishly at their miraculously still sleeping son.

Belled looked back to him. “You’re sure?” she asked. “You’ll leave our home?”

He kissed her again, lingering longer this time, catching her bottom lip between his, which made her hum a happy little noise. “Belle, home is wherever you are. You and Bae.”

She beamed at him just before she all but pounced on him, pushing him back to lay on the bed. His arms came up around her, holding her close as they kissed.

His leg hurt, his foot was still throbbing, and he could catalog any number of other aches and pains, but none of it mattered. He’d suffer all of it and more, again and again, for this, for his family. Rich or poor, castle or tiny, drafty cottage, this was all he ever wanted.

He was home.


End file.
